Not Everyone Has the Same Heart You Do
My ex-husband and I divorced when our daughter was three. We met when we were young - he was 19, I was 23. He moved in after we'd been dating for three weeks, so that should tell you how intelligent I was back then. On our first anniversary, he proposed. It was actually a sweet proposal. ted by my best friend, of course. She helped him pick the ring, and he made me Build-A-Bear in a little tux with "Will you marry me?" recorded on his little bear paw. Of course, I said yes. We were engaged for quite a while, and when we found out that I was pregnant, we decided to put off getting married until after Alex was born. Alex wasn't planned. Neither of us had ever wanted kids, and we were both very career focused. We had good jobs, and pulled in six figures between us.
All that changed when my beautiful baby was born. Nate, my husband, and I decided that it was best if I quit my job and stay home to raise the baby. At the time, even though we worked for the same company, I was making less than he was, so it made sense. I was seven months pregnant when I stopped working. Around this time, the first of several red flags in our relationship popped up. While I sat at home, getting fatter and more pregnant every day, Nate started going out with his friends after work. They'd go to the beach, drink and smoke pot until the early hours of the morning. When I complained, it was met with, "Well, you can't be around that stuff. You're pregnant." When he was home, he seemed angry with me all the time. He even went so far as to put a pillow over my face once during sex, a moment that still gives me anxiety. That was one of the lowest points of my life.
When Alex was born, things got worse. During pregnancy, my dormant thyroid problems manifested themselves as a full-blown case of hypothyroidism, and with it came the mother of all depression, post-partum depression. My self esteem was shot. I had always been chubby, but I gained seventy pounds during pregnancy. At 265 pounds and a size 22, I felt horrible about myself physically. I didn't want Nate to so much as hug me, much less have sex with me. I was convinced that there was no way that I could raise a child without screwing her up. My own childhood has been rough, so what example could I possibly set for my own little girl. I was completely convinced that Alex would be better off without me as a mom, and it was the first time that I really considered suicide as an option. If you've never given birth, you might not be aware that at your six week checkup, you have to fill out a little questionnaire, one question of which is, "Have you had suicidal thoughts?" You should ABSOLUTELY fill this out honestly, but know that when you check "yes" on that one, you buy yourself a one-way ticket to therapy. It's not optional. Either you go for a few sessions, or you go to a psych ward for suicide watch. I went to my therapy, and oh my gosh did it help! Between those sessions and the nonjudgmental support of my mother-in-law, who completely understood how I felt, I got over it. It took a long time, but they made me realize that my job as a mother is to take all of that negative crap in my life, and throw it out. I had to build myself back up to my initial supreme badassedness, so that my daughter would grow up seeing what a woman should be, how a woman should be treated. Just because I didn't have great role models, didn't mean that I couldn't become one.
I've always loved to travel, and wanted a successful career that paid me enough to do that. I wanted the prestige that came along with being successful, and to be respected by my peers. When I became a stay-at-home mom, all of those dreams evaporated into the air. I was a mom, something that I had no skill set for, and which I was cure I would fail miserably at. But, those were the cardsthat were dealt to me, and I'll be damned if I wasn't going to play the hell out of them. Your kid is only with you, invading your personal space and cramping your style for a finite amount of time. You owe it to them to give them your all for those eighteen years that you're legally obligated to (though my daughter has assured me that I can't legally kick her out at eighteen), and then you can do whatever the hell you want to. I can pursue my career and kick major job ass later on. I have a built-in travel buddy all the time now. Yes, we go to Disney instead of pounding margs on a beach in Tahiti, but whatever, Disney is cool, and someday, she can pour my margaritas for me.
Unfortunately, her dad doesn't feel the same way. When Alex was three, Nate's career really took off. He was offered a position that would relocate us to California and have him travelling more often than not. He was sent to Cali a month early, to look for a house, and the night before he was supposed to leave, he didn't come home. He stayed out all night, strolling in two hours before he was scheduled to leave for the airport and told me, "When I get back from this trip, we need to talk." That was it. The end of our marriage. I knew it as surely as I've ever known anything, and sure enough, when he came home from that trip, he told me he didn't love me and he wanted to go to California alone, not with a family in tow. There had been rumors of him cheating for awhile, and all the signs were there, but like a dope, I had chosen to ignore them. That was the moment I knew it was true. That's why he didn't come home that night before he left. That's why he had stayed out all of those other nights. He suggested that Alex and I move up here, to Illinois, to be close to my sisters, so we did. We stayed with his mother for a few weeks, and then we came up here. My heart broken self helped my sister plan her own wedding, and I'm so thrilled that seven years later, she's still happily married.
It took a long time for me to stop hating Nate. The first year after our separation, I let him treat me like garbage. He told me everything that was wrong with me, assigned all the blame. And I let him. I bought into it all. It was my fault I was distant. It was my fault that I cried too much. It was my fault that I couldn't drive the manual transmission car that he insisted we buy, despite the fact that I've never been able to drive stick, thus making him drive me everywhere. It was my fault that we didn't have more money because I didn't work. It was my fault that I didn't keep the house clean when I was home all day. despite the debilitating depression that barely allowed me to get up in the morning. I let it crush me down. After a year of all that, I stopped listening. I started building my own life. A year later, he asked me to remove myself from all of our joint accounts. He was buying a house (another point of contention was the fact that we rented) with his new girlfriend and her daughter, and he needed to replace me with her. He also wanted an official divorce. So, I gave it to him. I gave him whatever he wanted, just to be done with it. He agreed to big child support payments, and I agreed that he could visit Alex whenever he wanted. It was over within a month.
Since then, we take a family vacation together, every year. He and I get along fine now, so we take a few days and go wherever Alex wants to go. He and his girlfriend didn't work out, but he never brought her anyway. I always wondered if he even told her where he was going. This year, he didn't mention vacation at all. He didn't ask if Alex could come visit him over the summer. We invited him on our vacation, and he still hasn't gotten back to me. Last I heard, he said he'd see if he could make it. A couple weeks ago, he learned that his company is going to close in February, and he needs to find another job. I brought up the idea that it might be a good opportunity to find a career a little closer to Alex. His response was, "I just closed on my new house. I can't really relocate right now." He immediately proceeded to tell me about all of the places he's applied and how he'd be bored if he had to settle in one place. He really wants a job that still lets him travel, and pays him the six figures he's accustomed to.
I don't know how long I was going to keep letting myself believe that he would change, that someday he would care about his daughter and want to spend more time with her. I let myself believe that eventually he would learn that money isn't everything. She'll be eleven this year. There's a very small window of opportunity for him to build a relationship with her, and it's closing rapidly. My father was in his fifties before he realized that he didn't spend enough time with his kids, and he passed away last month. He never got the chance to correct that. I don't want that for Nate, but I've realized that while my mindset about my life and future changed when I had Alex, his never did. He's never going to want a kid or a family holding him back. He's never going to want to settle down, and if one day he does, it might be too late. At least with Alex. My heart hurts for her because of it, but I have more than enough love for her to make up for it. And I am glad that whenever she needs money,, she can go to him. He can buy her a car. He can pay for college, and I'll make damn sure she picks the most expensive one she can get into. I may be a good person, and mom, but I'm still petty as hell. I'm not ashamed.
All that changed when my beautiful baby was born. Nate, my husband, and I decided that it was best if I quit my job and stay home to raise the baby. At the time, even though we worked for the same company, I was making less than he was, so it made sense. I was seven months pregnant when I stopped working. Around this time, the first of several red flags in our relationship popped up. While I sat at home, getting fatter and more pregnant every day, Nate started going out with his friends after work. They'd go to the beach, drink and smoke pot until the early hours of the morning. When I complained, it was met with, "Well, you can't be around that stuff. You're pregnant." When he was home, he seemed angry with me all the time. He even went so far as to put a pillow over my face once during sex, a moment that still gives me anxiety. That was one of the lowest points of my life.
When Alex was born, things got worse. During pregnancy, my dormant thyroid problems manifested themselves as a full-blown case of hypothyroidism, and with it came the mother of all depression, post-partum depression. My self esteem was shot. I had always been chubby, but I gained seventy pounds during pregnancy. At 265 pounds and a size 22, I felt horrible about myself physically. I didn't want Nate to so much as hug me, much less have sex with me. I was convinced that there was no way that I could raise a child without screwing her up. My own childhood has been rough, so what example could I possibly set for my own little girl. I was completely convinced that Alex would be better off without me as a mom, and it was the first time that I really considered suicide as an option. If you've never given birth, you might not be aware that at your six week checkup, you have to fill out a little questionnaire, one question of which is, "Have you had suicidal thoughts?" You should ABSOLUTELY fill this out honestly, but know that when you check "yes" on that one, you buy yourself a one-way ticket to therapy. It's not optional. Either you go for a few sessions, or you go to a psych ward for suicide watch. I went to my therapy, and oh my gosh did it help! Between those sessions and the nonjudgmental support of my mother-in-law, who completely understood how I felt, I got over it. It took a long time, but they made me realize that my job as a mother is to take all of that negative crap in my life, and throw it out. I had to build myself back up to my initial supreme badassedness, so that my daughter would grow up seeing what a woman should be, how a woman should be treated. Just because I didn't have great role models, didn't mean that I couldn't become one.
I've always loved to travel, and wanted a successful career that paid me enough to do that. I wanted the prestige that came along with being successful, and to be respected by my peers. When I became a stay-at-home mom, all of those dreams evaporated into the air. I was a mom, something that I had no skill set for, and which I was cure I would fail miserably at. But, those were the cardsthat were dealt to me, and I'll be damned if I wasn't going to play the hell out of them. Your kid is only with you, invading your personal space and cramping your style for a finite amount of time. You owe it to them to give them your all for those eighteen years that you're legally obligated to (though my daughter has assured me that I can't legally kick her out at eighteen), and then you can do whatever the hell you want to. I can pursue my career and kick major job ass later on. I have a built-in travel buddy all the time now. Yes, we go to Disney instead of pounding margs on a beach in Tahiti, but whatever, Disney is cool, and someday, she can pour my margaritas for me.
Unfortunately, her dad doesn't feel the same way. When Alex was three, Nate's career really took off. He was offered a position that would relocate us to California and have him travelling more often than not. He was sent to Cali a month early, to look for a house, and the night before he was supposed to leave, he didn't come home. He stayed out all night, strolling in two hours before he was scheduled to leave for the airport and told me, "When I get back from this trip, we need to talk." That was it. The end of our marriage. I knew it as surely as I've ever known anything, and sure enough, when he came home from that trip, he told me he didn't love me and he wanted to go to California alone, not with a family in tow. There had been rumors of him cheating for awhile, and all the signs were there, but like a dope, I had chosen to ignore them. That was the moment I knew it was true. That's why he didn't come home that night before he left. That's why he had stayed out all of those other nights. He suggested that Alex and I move up here, to Illinois, to be close to my sisters, so we did. We stayed with his mother for a few weeks, and then we came up here. My heart broken self helped my sister plan her own wedding, and I'm so thrilled that seven years later, she's still happily married.
It took a long time for me to stop hating Nate. The first year after our separation, I let him treat me like garbage. He told me everything that was wrong with me, assigned all the blame. And I let him. I bought into it all. It was my fault I was distant. It was my fault that I cried too much. It was my fault that I couldn't drive the manual transmission car that he insisted we buy, despite the fact that I've never been able to drive stick, thus making him drive me everywhere. It was my fault that we didn't have more money because I didn't work. It was my fault that I didn't keep the house clean when I was home all day. despite the debilitating depression that barely allowed me to get up in the morning. I let it crush me down. After a year of all that, I stopped listening. I started building my own life. A year later, he asked me to remove myself from all of our joint accounts. He was buying a house (another point of contention was the fact that we rented) with his new girlfriend and her daughter, and he needed to replace me with her. He also wanted an official divorce. So, I gave it to him. I gave him whatever he wanted, just to be done with it. He agreed to big child support payments, and I agreed that he could visit Alex whenever he wanted. It was over within a month.
Since then, we take a family vacation together, every year. He and I get along fine now, so we take a few days and go wherever Alex wants to go. He and his girlfriend didn't work out, but he never brought her anyway. I always wondered if he even told her where he was going. This year, he didn't mention vacation at all. He didn't ask if Alex could come visit him over the summer. We invited him on our vacation, and he still hasn't gotten back to me. Last I heard, he said he'd see if he could make it. A couple weeks ago, he learned that his company is going to close in February, and he needs to find another job. I brought up the idea that it might be a good opportunity to find a career a little closer to Alex. His response was, "I just closed on my new house. I can't really relocate right now." He immediately proceeded to tell me about all of the places he's applied and how he'd be bored if he had to settle in one place. He really wants a job that still lets him travel, and pays him the six figures he's accustomed to.
I don't know how long I was going to keep letting myself believe that he would change, that someday he would care about his daughter and want to spend more time with her. I let myself believe that eventually he would learn that money isn't everything. She'll be eleven this year. There's a very small window of opportunity for him to build a relationship with her, and it's closing rapidly. My father was in his fifties before he realized that he didn't spend enough time with his kids, and he passed away last month. He never got the chance to correct that. I don't want that for Nate, but I've realized that while my mindset about my life and future changed when I had Alex, his never did. He's never going to want a kid or a family holding him back. He's never going to want to settle down, and if one day he does, it might be too late. At least with Alex. My heart hurts for her because of it, but I have more than enough love for her to make up for it. And I am glad that whenever she needs money,, she can go to him. He can buy her a car. He can pay for college, and I'll make damn sure she picks the most expensive one she can get into. I may be a good person, and mom, but I'm still petty as hell. I'm not ashamed.
Comments
Post a Comment